Taste the Sun
by blindfollower
Summary: um a car accident may or may not be fatal i also just kinda want to make this a choose your own ending that you people come up with so ill come back with something unless people hate me so uh sorry for this messy platter of crap


Another young nurse scrambled for the stretcher, filling her space in the mass of scrubs of colleagues while the emergency paramedics dropped out, having done their job. " _BP's dropping!"_ called another frantic nurse from somewhere in the throng. "Is the surgeon ready?" asked another. And in the mix of all that chaos, a scraped-up man trailed after the team, nearly going hysterical trying to avoid being admitted for his wounds in favor of pursuing the other man on the gurney.

My unlucky friend was the one stuck with the hopeless job to get the one with the shorter hair to calm down and follow her. Her attempts were in vain, the man yelling, trying to nudge past my colleague, attempting to slip in and blend with all the chaos to be with this other kid on the stretcher. But a few others showed up to restrain him, eventually getting him to comply. The only comprehensible words from the short-haired boy that I could understand were ' _let me back'_ and ' _he's all that I've got left'_.

I was the luckier one, guiding the stretcher towards a prepped emergency surgery room. The boy on the gurney was actually pretty adorable, if it wasn't for all the blood caked over his skin and shards of glass speckled over his face. Blood glued his coffee-colored bangs to an open wound on his scalp. It flecked on the inside of the mask that was strapped to his face and stained his shirt that might have once been considered green, pooling over his stomach. It was a safe bet to say that none of my colleagues had seen that massive volume of blood on one person alone. As soon as we were set up into the prepared room, the boy's shirt was cut gingerly around the plate of metal jutting out of his stomach and up to his collar, where it was stripped away. His bangs were the next to go in order to dress the wound on his scalp.

Both of the Winchester brothers were walking side by side back to the motel room, the solid chunks of snow crunching under both of the boy's boots. Sam had suggested just to walk to the bar because 'it's within walking distance' and 'it's a nice night out, Dean' and 'besides, we spent all day in that damn car anyway'. Dean had mumbled something about planning to get too drunk to drive his baby anyway. Sam's entire face was flushed to match the red glow of a phantom Christmas light that had been lit up way too close to his face, and not just because of the cold. The flawless bartender had turned her eyes to the boy with the dimples instead of Dean, who had watched and shaken his head in disappointment as Sam's face burned hotter throughout the night while the girl flaunted and winked her way around him. It was sad, really, how Sam could attract such a bombshell of a chick and continuously stutter out shaky 'no, thank you's and hide his embarrassment behind a blanket of scruffy bangs that seemed to make the bartender smile even wider. Dean just rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his drink when she had scrawled a seven digit number on the palm of his brother's hand.

Dean jammed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, watching the thin cloud of wispy smoke that came out of his mouth as he breathed. "You gonna call her?"

Sam made an exasperated sigh, as if Dean had just asked that same question a million other times. Irritated, he began, "Dean-"

"Look, Sam, you have to put things behind you at some point. It gets a lot easier after that."

"How would you know, Dean? I've never seen any girl you go out with for more than a week, tops."

"Whatever, Sam," Dean blew out a breath, shaking his head. "Just- whatever."

The crisp snow under their feet was the only sound either of the two made for a while. Dean broke the silence between them. "So if the bar was a bust, then what time do you wanna leave in the morning?"

"Late. 'M tired and I don't know if I have enough energy to even watch you flirt with the entire female population tomorrow."

Dean ghosted a smirk. "A sleepy Sammy makes a grumpy Sammy."

Sam smiled in spite of himself. "You're an ass."

"And you're a needy bitch who's getting second shower."

"What did I do to deserve that?"

"Seniority rules, little brother."

"Doesn't mean you can pin me first."

"Ah," Dean sounded delighted that Sam suggested he was better than his older brother. "So, no rock-paper-scissors tonight? Just don't get all girly punches, Sam. Try to get a real one in."

They both stopped walking, a few cars passed by them as they both took their sides on the sidewalk and began sparring. Their breathing became quicker and heavier, drawing a misty fog from each of the boy's exhale. Dean ended up pinning Sam's arms in a cross behind his back and deadlocking him until Sam was stomach-down in the snow with Dean holding him down.

"What was that about pinning you first?" Dean asked to his brother's back.

"Get off me."

Dean got back to his feet, not wanting to keep Sam in the snow for too long in the event of him complaining all the way back to the motel. Dean had just gotten Sam up when his brother gasped and yelled. "Holy shit, Dean!"

He turned to look at what Sam was freaking out about when he was pushed sharply against his chest, sending him down to the ground. At first, Dean thought it was a diversion so Sam could get the drop on him; however, when Sam's red face didn't pop back up and laugh at him, he wondered what the h happened. Instead of laughter, Dean was met with the awful screeching sound of crappy brake pads and no traction of car tires on ice right after he fell.

Sam had started to run out of the way after he pushed Dean (out of love or reflex, he would never know) but one foot slipped out from under him on the ice. He was saved from the ground by the oncoming car that he had tried to avoid. It hydroplaned, caught Sam with the front bumper, and crashed through the guardrail.


End file.
